Connor and the Coat of Many Positions
by Rhanon Brodie
Summary: I've thought of better titles. Anyway, here's the follow up to Unlimited Blue. There's actually a hint at plot near the end! I know! Plot! Said plot will thicken accordingly. Connor / OFC Pam . M for certain.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: So, here it is, the continuation of Unlimited Blue. This starts right after that one ends. I'm still not finished playing in this arc yet, or in Murphy and Wren's, so I hope you're all along for the ride! I've always been curious as to why no one has tackled the story of where they got their smashing coats...they are so much a part of their characters and yet we just assume they've always owned them. you didn't think I'd make Pam work at a used clothing store just for the hell of it, did you? Anyway, here you go. Enjoy._

* * *

Pam had barely been awake when she had shuffled into the kitchen and found Connor leaning his hip against the counter, a bowl of cereal clutched in one hand as his other hand dug a spoon deep. Behind him, the coffee maker bubbled and hissed appropriately, expelling the aroma of dark roasted beans.

"S'almost ready," he grinned, looking her up and down. "Though from the looks of ya, ye might need to main line it this mornin'."

Pam frowned and looked down at her attire, a pair of underwear and an oversized t-shirt that hung down one shoulder. Then her hands went to her hair which was a wild mess of tawny waves and random tight curls. Finally, she rubbed at her eyes and came back with a smudged mess of what used to be sexy cat eyes.

"Crap," she muttered. She narrowed her gaze at Connor and then flipped him the bird. "We can't all be ready for our cover shoot of Teen Beat at…" she glanced past him to the clock on the stove – "five thirty am."

Connor merely grinned again and set his bowl down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, before gliding into Pam's space and taking her hands in his. "C'mere," he murmured, pulling her closer.

"Ugh, no," Pam fought back, shaking her head. "If I look like this, I can't imagine the dragon breath I must be harbouring. M'not kissing _anything_ until I brush my teeth."

He frowned playfully. "C'mon, I've been eatin' granola all mornin'. I'm sure I've got squirrel breath." He gave her another tug forward, this one a little firmer. "Sides, I don't care. My mouth has been up and down yer sweet hide and to all the cracks and crevices between."

Pam shook her head adamantly. "I'm not ki…"

Connor moved viper fast, striking her mouth with his and cutting off any other words she might try to say. He tasted sweet from the milk and a little bit nutty from the cereal he had been eating, and Pam suddenly decided that she would never buy a different type of granola again. Connor clusters. She giggled into the kiss and Connor smirked against her mouth before soundly smacking her ass with the flat of his palm. She pulled away in time for her lips to be replaced by another spoonful of cereal. Crunching loudly, he winked before tipping the bowl back and slurping down the remaining milk. He barely managed to suppress the belch that followed.

"Oh my god, you are such a boy," she muttered.

"Lord's name," Connor pointed at her with his spoon. The dishes clanged as they landed in the bottom of her sink.

"Aye, well, ye'd best leave now so you can get to church and say about a million Hail Mary's for last night."

"When are ye done work tonight?" He asked, ignoring her dig with a shrug.

"Seven. Well, six, actually. The store closes at six."

"Are ye over at _Aces High_ later?"

Pam shook her head. "No, I'm not there until Thursday morning."

"Can I stop by yer shop tonight then? Grab somethin' t'eat, maybe a beer…"

She narrowed her eyes playfully. "I know what happens when I agree to meals and beers with you, Connor."

"What?" he asked wide-eyed and innocent. "I believe it was _you_ who tied _me_ t'the bed. If anythin', you took advantage of me."

Pam scoffed. "I think not."

Connor was already moving past her to the front door, collecting his boots and shrugging into his sweater.

"Oh, that reminds me," she said, eyeing the worn elbows of his sweater. "When you and Murph were in the store on Saturday, he tried on a really nice coat. I have a pair of them, almost matching – I know how much you love sticking to the twin stereotype of dressing alike." She smirked at Connor's eye roll and continued. "Anyway…those sweaters are only gonna hold up for so long. Winter's almost here and…well, I can wheel and deal a little bit, get you guys a really good price on them."

"Yer sweet, lass," Connor smiled. "But ye don' hafta. We'll make do."

She could hear the hesitation in his voice at the thought of any kind of handout. She dropped the subject for the moment. "Whatever," she shrugged.

He smiled and opened the door. "Thanks. Fer breakfast. An' fer last night." He said the last sentence with pink cheeks and Pam couldn't resist stealing another kiss. "See ye tonight?" he murmured when he pulled his mouth free.

"Sounds like a plan," Pam nodded.

He threw her another grin. "Enjoy the coffee."

She shut the door and shuffled back into the kitchen, pulling out a mug. Lifting the pot from its heater, she poured herself a cup of coffee, and stirred the right amount of honey and cream in. Taking a big gulp, she swished the hot liquid around her mouth before grimacing. Leaning over the sink, she spit the mouthful out and frowned, rubbing her tongue along her teeth, trying to dispel the weak and bitter taste from her mouth. With a frown, she lifted the glass carafe of coffee to the light and noticed its decidedly pale color.

"Fuck," she grimaced again, before dumping the whole batch down the sink.

Connor MacManus made shitty coffee.

* * *

There was something strangely comforting about pulling a saw through a rack of ribeye. Connor moved the blade with ease, glancing up at Murphy who was across the floor, laughing at something their co-worker, Lou, had said. Lou picked up two drumsticks from the belt and began waving them around while screaming, causing Murphy's laughter to grow to cackling proportions. Connor shook his head and sighed. His brother _really_ needed to get laid. Maybe Pam knew someone?

The thought of setting Murphy up with _anyone_ made him recoil. The one and only time Murphy had been set up had been in their senior year of high school, and the girl had been the daughter of a friend of their Ma's – if Connor remembered correctly, her name had been Colleen O'Shea – and the evening had turned out horribly. Murphy had been sore that he had to be set up in the first place (although it had been his fault, he was always oblivious to the affections of girls, and he spent more time covering third base than he did _getting_ to third base), and the O'Shea girl had made it clear that she had thought she was being set up with the _other_ MacManus brother. They fought like cat and dog the entire night; Connor knew because he had agreed to double with Maggie O'Brien (whom Colleen acted rudely too, as well). Connor had decided that from then on, Murphy was in charge of his own love life. He wouldn't be responsible for his brother's misery.

As if Murphy knew Connor was thinking about him, the darker twin looked over and nodded, and then pointed to his wrist. Connor looked to the clock. It was a little past eight; they'd been at it for only two hours. Perfect time for a cigarette. Besides, Connor could tell that Murphy was dying to know what had transpired with Pam. He turned the blade off, sent the finished pile of work over for packaging, and crossed the cutting room floor. Joining Murphy at the door, the two of them lapsed easily into Gaelic, and strutted out to the loading docks, discarded their white coats along the way.

Murphy lit two cigarettes and handed on to Connor as they settled on a couple of overturned crates. For a while, they merely smoked, inhaling and then exhaling, a haze of smoke surrounding them.

"So?" Murphy asked, looking at his brother expectantly.

"What?" Connor asked lightly.

"You _know_ what." He flicked his blue eyes up and down Connor's frame, frowning in disappointment.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what yer on about," Connor shrugged. He glanced at Murphy, noting the frustration in his brother's eyes. "What?"

"Ye had te get a tattoo, right? I mean, in order to talk to her – ye had an appointment an' everyting!" Murphy growled. He started to pout.

"Christ, yer a whiner."

"Lord's name," Murphy chimed in.

"Shut the feck up. Aye, I got a tattoo, brudder. But yer showin' yers, first."

Murphy shook his dark head as a grin split his face. "No way. You go first."

Connor sighed at their childish argument. "All right, we both of us show 'em at the same time, aye?" He stood up, flicking his cigarette away.

"Aye," Murphy agreed smugly, copying Connor's move.

They stood toe to toe on the loading dock, eyeing each other up.

"On the count of three then," Connor announced.

"One," Murphy started.

"Two," Connor continued.

"Three!" They both cried out.

There was a flurry of movement as Murphy yanked his t shirt over his head and Connor thumbed the button of his jeans open and let them drop. They looked at one another then, each one perplexed at the lack of the other's clothing. Murphy's eyes narrowed on Connor's hip.

"For fecks sake, Conn, she got ye on yer _hip_?" He snorted and his shoulders shook with a chuckle.

"That's right, she did," Connor snapped back. He fingered the bandage there, staring at the white gauze square, and then quickly looked to Murphy. "Why? Is that a bad thing?"

Murphy grinned and shook his head. "Oh, no. Just don't let the guys at the piss trough see it, aye? Might think yer gay or sometin'."

"The only reason they'd tink I was gay was from the company I keep," Connor hissed. He nodded at the bandage on Murphy's bicep. "Are ye gonna take that off?"

Murphy nodded at Connor's hip. "What about you?"

"Christ, not this again," Connor growled.

"Lord's n…"

"On three," Connor hissed through clenched teeth.

They counted together this time, and when they made it to 'three', it was drowned out by their sharp squeals as tape stuck to hair and flesh. They each sucked in a breath through their teeth and held it until the sting subsided.

"What the feck is that?" Murphy gasped, bending at the waist and squinting at the green ink. "Feck me," he muttered. Glancing up at Connor he rolled his eyes and then looked at the tattoo once more. "It's a feckin' _shamrock_."

"Aye, thanks for pointing that out, Sherlock." Connor cuffed his brother on the back of his head.

"Is that the letter 'P'?"

"All right, enough of mine; what did _you_ get?" Shoving Murphy back, Connor gripped his right forearm and twisted it above his head so that he could better see the underside of his brother's bicep. He groaned when he saw the small winged demon. "Oh, aye, cuz yer such a badass." He dropped his brother's arm with a snort.

"Well, this is interesting."

Both brothers turned at the sound of their boss's voice. George Brady stood in the warehouse doorway, taking in Connor's lack of pants and Murphy's bare chest.

"There's a perfectly good explanation fer this, George," Murphy began.

"It's actually a very funny story," Connor interjected.

"Full of love!" Murphy added quickly.

"An' booze!" Connor reminded him.

"An'…tattoos," they both added lamely at the end.

George looked from one brother to the other, and then rolled his eyes heavenward. "You know what? I don't care. I'm sure it's a very riveting tale, but I don't have the patience. And the floor's getting backed up, aye? Just…" he waved at them with a frown. "Finish up whatever it is yer doing and pick up the pace, right?"

"Aye, George," Murphy nodded, bending to retrieve his shirt.

Connor nodded silently and yanked his jeans up, and shot his brother a wild grin.

"So, are ye gonna see her again?" Murphy muttered as they entered the warehouse and shrugged back into their white coats.

"Aye," Connor nodded with a cheeky grin. "I've a follow up appointment this afternoon."


	2. Chapter 2

He was done at two, so he had the time to sneak home, grab some sleep and a shower, and make it back to _ULtd_ _Blue_ by five thirty. Pausing outside the front display window, Connor snuffed his smoke and cupped his hands around his eyes, and peered through the glass. His heart did something…_funny_ when he recognized Pam. He could only see her from the neck up – she was standing behind a rack of jeans talking to a customer – but she had made her wildly wavy hair fall in long, loose waves all the way down her back. Just the thought of wrapping that thick length of hair around his fist made Connor's cock jump in his jeans. Grinning to himself, he moved to the door and stepped inside.

The bells overhead jangled and he looked up in time to catch Pam's eyes. They smiled at each other and then Pam went back to talking to her customer while Connor began to wander around the store and aimlessly flip through the racks. He kept an eye open for Tim, wary that the owner might be back to grope his backside some more. As he sorted through the racks, he made his way closer and closer to where Pam stood until finally she turned and looked at him.

"Can I help you?" she asked with a laugh.

"Aye. M'in the market for a long-legged brunette that's good with knots."

Pam rolled her eyes and glanced at her watch. "Well, sir, you're in luck. It's five fourty-five and I have it on good authority that a brunette that meets your requirements will be available momentarily." She grinned and leaned up against the counter behind her.

She looked different – _again_. She was like a chameleon, this one, always changing her look. To with the full waves of her hair, she'd worn snug, low slung jeans, a plain white t shirt that stopped about two inches above her navel and hugged her curves, and black motorcycle boots. Her chain wallet was slung over one hip and she wore a black studded belt as well. He wondered what she looked like in a dress and if he'd ever have occasion to see such a thing.

He moved aside as Pam's customer neared the front counter, and while she rang up a sale, Connor browsed the t-shirts near the change rooms. Soon enough, he heard the bells signal the exit of the customer.

"Door's locked," Pam called out a few seconds later. Then the music became louder, something bluesy and hard, and she moved to the front counter and opened the register. "Where are you taking me tonight?" She called as she began counting cash.

"Borgo's," Connor answered, naming the Slovakian deli a few blocks south. "They make an excellent goulash."

Pam paused her counting and stared at Connor. "For real? You're not taking me to a nice Irish place?"

Connor shook his head with a grin. "Nah. That's _after_ dinner, lass. You don't go to an Irish pub to _eat_. Christ, ye should know Irish food is boring and bland. I mean, you can only do so much to a potato."

"I love anything you can do with a potato," she pointed out as she resumed her task.

"Is that so? Can I eat mashed potatoes offa yer tits, then?"

She froze and snapped her eyes to his. "Connor!" she cried out, pretending to be scandalized. "I'm not that kind of girl!"

Connor paused a moment, processing her words and trying to determine if she was joking.

"I'd much rather you ate them off of my ass," she added with a wink.

Connor chuckled and leaned forward on the counter so that his mouth hovered near her ear. "I'm sorry we only had a few hours last night. There are a lot of tings I'd like te do te that ass."

Pam blushed hot and hard and it took her three tries to get the cash register to close properly.

"Ye know, I'm tryin' te figure out if you blushin' is an act," Connor purred, sliding his hand through the thick waves of her hair and ending up at the back of her skull, "or if ye really are inhibited." He tightened his fingers in her hair, pulling just enough so that her lips parted in a small 'o' shape and her eyelashes fluttered. "Now, I think it's an act," he continued, "an' yer just lettin' me have my fun."

She swallowed thickly. He was right, really. She wasn't nearly as inhibited as she let on to be; the proof being in last night's pudding, but she liked the way he made her feel. Connor was naturally dominant, the type to take charge and obviously not take 'no' for an answer. He could challenge her, just as she did him, and the thought sent a thrill up her spine. She titled her head into Connor's grasp and groaned happily.

"If you're having fun, I'm having it, too," she breathed.

"Well, that's good," Connor smirked. He met her halfway in a short, but nonetheless hot, kiss.

Her tongue swiped his mouth as she pulled back. "Let me go drop this in the back." She held up a deposit back and shook it. "Be right back."

In the office, she tossed the deposit into the safe and shut down the computer. Then, she made a beeline for the stock room and rifled through the section labelled 'Jackets' until she came across the pair of wool coats she had mentioned to Connor earlier. Taking one off its hanger, she tucked it under her arm and made to go back to the store where Connor was waiting when an idea struck her. He didn't like handouts, but she was pretty sure she could convince him that this was the jacket for him. Grinning with her plan, she set the jacket down and unbuckled her belt.

* * *

He was staring into the glass case that held belt buckles when he heard Pam clear her throat. He whirled around, grinning, and then froze when he saw her. She wore a black wool coat over her frame, buttoned up to the neck, and a pair of black open-toed stilettos. Her hair was twisted up against the back of her head and her legs were bare. Connor swallowed thickly, the grin still firmly in place, and his blood racing south.

"So this is the coat I was telling you about," she announced casually. She spread her arms and cocked her hip. "Do you like it?"

His voice seemed to have dried in his throat and so he nodded, his eyes bright as he looked up her long legs to where they disappeared under the coat.

"I showed it to Murphy," Pam continued as she turned. When her back was to Connor, she glanced at him over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow. "He seemed interested."

The mention of his brother's name snapped him back to reality like he'd been slapped and he licked his lips. "I hope Murph didn't get the same show," he growled.

She smiled slowly, dropping her eyes as she pulled open the first button of the coat. "Nope."

"Feckin' right he didn't," Connor muttered. His speech left him as Pam turned in her heels and faced him again. He could see her collarbones now, and the curling tendril of her tattoo.

"Nice big pockets here," she purred, sliding her hands across her hips where there was, in fact, a deep pocket on either side. She reached and pulled the last three buttons open and drew the placket back quickly and pointed to the inside lining. "And one on the inside," she continued.

Connor's eyes bugged out of his head as he caught a glimpse of her white bra and panties before she folded the coat closed again. His cock jumped again and he closed his eyes briefly as his erection took over the last drops of blood in his system.

"Warm and cozy," she sighed, her hands slipping up the front, cupping her breasts, and then flipping the high collar up behind her head. She strutted for Connor, her hips swaying with each step. She stopped less than a foot from him, and Connor's arousal surged when he noticed that, in her high heels, she was at least two inches taller than him. He didn't know why that turned him on, and he didn't really care.

"I'll take it," he growled, pulling her into him by the coat. "Now take it off so I can feck ye proper."


	3. Chapter 3

She let the coat fall from her shoulders. Someone kissed the other first, and she didn't care who started it. Full on, lips and teeth tugging, his tongue pressing against hers as his hands gripped her hips, his thumbs digging in as he steadily moved her backwards through the store. She heard the clang of curtain rings as Connor pushed the heavy red velvet aside and manoeuvred her into the change room. The cold surface of the mirrored wall met her back and she gasped, pulling her lips from his. Yanking his shirt up, he tossed it aside carelessly and collided with her mouth and body once more, grabbing the back of one knee and hiking her leg up over his hip.

The feel of his skin against hers made every nerve tingle and her hands clutched his hair, dragging his mouth from hers to slide against her throat. Bucking into him, she moaned at the hard and heavy press of his denim covered erection as it dug into her. Her panties were soaked in mere seconds and her thighs squeezed his hips as he yanked her hips higher against him.

She hissed, delighted, as he left her thigh about his hip and cupped her breasts roughly. A day's growth of stubble scratched the delicate skin of her chest as his mouth moved down. Seizing the cups of her bra, he yanked them down so that her breasts spilled out to his hands and then his mouth, and every flick of his tongue and pinch of his teeth sent a shudder through her body. Still she pushed him further, her hands still in his hair, until he was on his knees, her leg now hooked over his shoulder.

His chin rested on the swell of her belly just below her navel and he kissed her there, soft and warm, smiling as she quivered. "Tryin' te tell me somethin', lass?" he murmured, smoothing the palm of his hand over the thigh that rested on his shoulder. He curled his arm over and anchored her there.

She looked down to find him smirking up at her, his tongue darting out to swipe at her skin, his teeth gently nipping at her hipbone. Her fingers tightened in his hair, holding him steady at the apex of her thighs, and her other hand pulled aside the soaking fabric of her underwear. With a nod, she answered, "I want your mouth on me. Now."

"Aye," he agreed. His free hand moved up the leg she still stood on, and he tucked his thumb into his mouth before sliding it up her very wet slit. At the top he caught her clit and rolled it, and she made a choking sound before letting her head fall back against the glass.

"Don't tease," she whispered hotly, snapping her wrist and wrenching on his hair.

"Hmmm," he mused, liking the way she took charge. He splayed her open with his forefinger and thumb and leaned forward, glancing up at her as the flat of his tongue met the hot, slick folds of her pussy.

"Jeeeeezusssssss," she groaned. "Oh, fuck, Conn, don't stop," she urged, rolling her hips to his mouth.

She thought she might have heard a 'Lord's name' muffled against her, but she didn't care. She _couldn't_ care; the only thing she could do was stare at the ceiling and concentrate on every flicker of Connor's tongue against her. His lips pulled her clit, barbell and all, into his mouth and sucked hard, wrenching a sharp cry from her. Releasing the distended flesh, he sank his tongue down again, and curled it.

A sharp sting seared his scalp, her nails digging in as he ate her with slow precision. He memorized the spots that made her pant, that made her cry out, that made her shake and shudder. Focusing his efforts on her clit, he sank his middle finger into her tight heat, groaning with her as he began to stroke inside.

She hissed sharply, gulping in a breath and daring to look down once more. "Shit, Conn, yes! That's it…" Her breath left her in tiny whimpers, each one higher in pitch as he ratcheted her tighter and tighter. One finger became two, and her thighs shook as she clenched down on him.

He moaned at how tight she was, and how wet she became with every stroke of his fingers. She tasted like salted caramel and lemons, and was like silk on his tongue. His cock throbbed behind the fly of his jeans, eager to join the fray, but he wanted to make her come – just once, in his mouth, and hear what she sounded like when she did so. He didn't need to wait long and he kept pushing forward with his assault, his fingers fucking her steadily while his mouth worked her clit like he was kissing her mouth.

"Connor," she warbled, her eyes crossing as she stared up at the ceiling. Christ, he was going to make her burst, she was sure of it. Heat seared up her spine and flowed through her limbs as everything became dependent on Connor's quick tongue and strong fingers. "Oh, Connor, I'm gonna come," she warned.

With a growl his fingers curled inside of her, dragging hard against that one spot he knew would make her howl. Howl she did, her back arching away from the mirrors, her fingers tearing at his hair, and she came with a wail. She spilled on Connor's tongue, and his fingers, and he moved quickly to keep up with her, savouring everything until she was shaking and sobbing, and pushing his mouth away.

Connor pressed his lips to the inside of her thigh and sighed, memorizing every sound she had made and the look on her face as her orgasm had rushed her body. He'd never seen anything quite as magnificent and from such a beautiful angle. Climbing to his feet, he held her against the mirror, her body sagging. Her hold on his hair softened, her fingertips melting down to grab his shoulders. As she opened her eyes finally, she grinned lazily, and then reached for his belt buckle.

Her fingernails scratched where she grabbed him but it was a futile attempt, the aftershocks of her climax making for a delicious numbness spreading through her body. Connor quickly took over, sliding his belt open and almost tearing the button out of his jeans in haste to open them. When they slid down past his hips he hooked an arm around Pam's waist and turned them in the tiny confines of the change room. He plunked Pam down on her ass on the bench and then swung it away from the mirror so he could clamber onto the end. She caught the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss and he went with her, his hand snaking down her belly and yanking her panties down her thighs until they tangled around her ankles. He then bent her legs back and propped them against his shoulder, and hauled his cock out of his jeans.

There was no preamble, no waiting, no begging and pleading, just tight, wet warmth as he pushed into her still contracting body. He held onto her legs with one arm and grabbed hold of her hip with his free hand for leverage and began to plough into her without warning.

"Ah, _FUCK_!" Pam screeched as her body arched up violently. Her nerves were on overdrive and the line between pain and pleasure began to blur as Connor's hips banged against her ass. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," she chanted, grasping his forearm and sucking in a breath.

Above her, he grunted and then grinned, and backed off just enough so he could catch his breath. "There's a sweet lass," he purred, throwing a rotation into his hips with every other plunge. He pushed her legs up and back another few inches and jabbed her already swollen clit with his thumb, rubbing her right into orbit for a second time.

It slapped her in the face, the speed and intensity of her second climax. She hadn't even felt it building, but here it was, blazing fire in her veins and causing her to speak in tongues. This time she pulled at her own hair, overwhelmed with the sensations needling her body. Sharp, sweet stabs of pain took over the burning numb between her hips and she cried out again.

"Stop," she panted, shaking her head. "Fuck, Conn!" she cried out when he continued to stroke in and out of her.

"I'm tryin' to, lass, but yer puttin' up quite a fight!" he chuckled. Still, he took pity on her and slowed his hips, wincing as the clenching of his balls backed down. He looked to where he still moved within her, and she was a well-used pink, and shiny. "Feck me, ye should see this." He looked up at her, and then past her, at his own reflection before him. Cocking his head, he grinned at himself and glanced around the small cubicle. He stared back at himself from all angles. "Lord's name, Pam, remind me te thank Tim for installin' mirrors on every surface." He withdrew with a wet sound. "C'mere," he beckoned, hauling her to sit up. He sat on the edge and gestured to his lap. "Hop on."

Her legs were shaking as she stood, and she held onto his shoulder to keep some semblance of balance. Just before she could straddle him, Connor put a halting hand on her hip and she stared down at him in confusion. With a smirk, he held up his pointer finger and made a slow circle with it. "Turn 'round," he husked, and he helped move her so that her back was to him.

With his help she climbed onto his lap, her ass seated against his pelvis as his lips landed on the back of her neck. Seconds later, her hair tumbled around her shoulders and Connor tossed aside the clip that had secured it, and wrapped his hand in the thick waves of her hair. With his hand he moved her to his liking, pushing her forward so that her hands gripped his knees. Her ass lifted and he centred his cock beneath her before pulling her hip back and down, impaling her on his length.

"Ah, that's what I like," Connor sighed. Her legs were splayed over his so that when he moved his knees apart, hers moved apart, too, and he slid a hand down her front and caught her clit between the tips of his first two fingers. Leaning around her shoulder, he had a perfect view of the reflection they created: Pam, speared and spread around his cock, Connor buried deep and gently rubbing her where they joined. Glancing up, he saw that her eyes were closed, her lips parted as she panted, her head thrown back as she sank down completely onto him.

Her eyes opened and she groaned heavily at their reflection. "Jesus Christ, Connor," she gasped, rolling her hips forward and moving her hands behind her.

"Lord's name," he grunted, taking her hands in his and holding her steady. "But we do make quite a lovely pair, aye?"

"Again with the talking," Pam murmured with a grin. She felt Connor lace their fingers together.

"You started it," he pointed out. He brought their joined hands to rest on her thighs. "Ye gonna sit there all night or are ye gonna fuck me?"

She pulled his hands to her breasts. "Don't move. And stop talking," she scolded.

He nodded and watched, wide eyed, as Pam proceeded to ride him into the ground.

* * *

Murphy looked up as he heard his brother calling his name. He'd been at McGinty's now since six, after making a pit stop at home to shower up. Connor had been on his case as of late to 'fix yerself up' before coming out drinking, just in case there happened to be a lass interesting enough to pursue. His hair was still damp; it had gotten stiff from the cold air on the short walk over, and now he pushed it off his forehead as he turned and waved to Connor, who had Pamela Leary in tow.

He eyed his brother for a moment, before bringing his pint to his mouth and taking a sip. Connor was wearing a new coat, something vaguely familiar. Pam had something bundled under her arm and she left it in Connor's care as she excused herself to the washroom.

"Nice coat," Murphy mused as he lit two cigarettes and handed one to Connor.

Connor happily accepted and tucked the smoke into the corner of his mouth before running his hands down the sleeves of his pea coat. "D'ya like it?" He patted the bundle on the bar. "Just so happens, there were two of them."

"Oh, aye?" Murphy smirked. He'd guessed right, it was the same coat he'd tried on over the weekend. Standing, he shook out the second coat and pulled it on with a smile. He glanced at Connor and then down at himself. "It looks better on me."

"Feck off, it does," Connor snorted, smoke exhaled from his nostrils.

"I've got the shoulders fer it," the dark twin pointed out.

Connor gaped at his brother. "Can ye hear yerself? 'I've got the shoulders fer it'? Ye sound like a right pansy."

"Yer just sore cuz yer _older_ brother looks better than you."

"Right. Yer takin' the piss. We'll ask Pam."

Murphy scowled. "Feck off, 'we'll ask Pam'! Yer the one she's screwin', she's bound ta be biased!"

"An' _honest_," Connor snapped back with a smirk. "Fine, den, who are we gonna ask?"

"Hey, Fuck Ass, get me a beer!" A voice crowed out.

Connor and Murphy glanced at each other, each thinking the same thing. They turned back to the familiar face. "Rocco!"

* * *

Turned out, Rocco called them a bunch of pansies, too. The MacManus brothers fumed for a spell but got over it when another round of beer slid down the bar towards them. Connor introduced Pam to Rocco with a bit of reluctance, but for once, the Funny Man seemed to be on rather good behaviour.

Murphy and Rocco slipped out for a cigarette and some fresh air a while later, leaving Connor to show off his girl to the rest of McGinty's regulars. As Murphy leaned back against the wall and took a healthy drag off his cigarette, Rocco paced the sidewalk in front of him.

"I'm telling ya, Murph. Shit's starting to heat up. There's a lot of talk about the Russians and the Italians, not to mention the Irish. Word is that Mickey Monaghan is looking for a few good men. Irish men. Told him I'd keep an eye open."

Murphy made a face. "We're not lookin' ta get mixed up in the Irish Maffia, Roc."

Rocco paused and shrugged. "Yeah, well, I just said I'd keep an eye open. I didn't drop any names or anything. Besides, it wouldn't be dirty work. You'd probably end up being couriers."

Murphy chuckled. "Oh, aye, jus' what Conn an' I left Ireland fer: to be lackies fer an ol' Irish bastard. D'ya know what irony is, Roc?"

"Bah," Roc growled, waving Murphy's dig aside. "Fuck you, ya fuckin' Mick."

"Wop," Murphy threw back.

"That really is a nice coat," Roc said a while later, changing the subject.

"Tell me true, Roc. I won't tell Connor. I look better in it, don't I?"

Rocco shook his head. "If I didn't know you assholes better, I'd call you both fags and be done with you. Shit, it's cold out. Let's head inside."

Murphy nodded. "Just let me finish this," he said, holding up the last of his second cigarette. Rocco shrugged and headed back into the bar. Murphy smoothed his free hand down the front of his new coat, flicking wayward ashes from the black wool. His palm ran over a lump on the left side and he unbuttoned it and dug around in the inside pocket. His fingers closed on a stiff piece of slick paper, something that felt like a picture. He pulled it out, recognizing the black and white of a Polaroid. Curious, he turned it over.

He choked, sputtering smoke, and his cigarette flew from his lips and landed in the gutter. He didn't notice. His blue eyes were transfixed on the Polaroid: Pam, in high heels and a plain white bra and panty set, a pea coat hanging unbuttoned on her frame. He forced his eyes to the message scrawled in the white space below: 'knew you couldn't resist. Glad you liked it.'

It was obviously meant for Connor, both the coat he was wearing and the picture. Murphy had felt a little cornered, accepting the gift of a coat from a woman he barely knew, but now…He waved the photo under the light and tucked it safely back into the inside pocket. He didn't feel the need to inform Connor; it would probably embarrass the hell out of Pam. He sauntered back in to the pub with a smug smile firmly on his face. He was glad he hadn't resisted her generosity. And hell yes, he liked it.


End file.
